Living Dead Girl
by Helen
Summary: ...they found her in an alley. They didn't think she'd live. In a way, they were right.
1. Default Chapter

Resume Wizard

The city lay spread out below him, a mass of twinkling lights.Here, on the rooftops, the nightly noise faded into a background hum, and the wind carried just enough edge to make him shiver.Leaning casually on the Bo staff in his right hand, he allowed himself a small sigh.Out there, amidst the inviting glow of humanity, parents were kissing their children goodnight, lovers lay in each other's arms, and workers were preparing for sleep after a long day at their respective jobs.It was a pretty mental picture—but not one he would ever be privileged enough to become part of.He was condemned from the moment of existence, a freak.Not even fit to live above ground, he spent his days under city streets, in the sewers, with his master and brothers, all similarly barred from a normal life by an accident of science.

Donatello shifted his weight, three-fingered hand twirling the Bo staff idly.At least he was not denied all dignity—his skill in martial arts saw to that.He served a purpose, of sorts, protecting the city's inhabitants from evil they sometimes never saw coming. Which was why he was out here tonight, on the rooftops, on patrol. They took the night in shifts, from sundown to sunup, roughly three hours each—occasionally four, if Raphael had disappeared on one of his hell-raising ventures for the evening.

"I should be getting back," Donny muttered to himself as he checked his watch. It had been a long, dull three hours, and he wanted to get back to his lab. Suddenly, though, a faint noise from the alley below put him on the alert. Peering over the edge carefully, he saw a black-clad figure racing away. About to pursue, he suddenly stopped. Squinting, he could just make out another dim shape in the alley—it looked like someone lying on the ground. Leaping over the edge of the building and onto the fire escape, he quickly made his way down into the alley, adrenaline thrumming through his system. Dropping to one knee beside the body, he did a quick once over. It was a girl, between 15 and 18, with dark brown, shoulder length ringlets. She was white as a sheet, probably due to shock and blood loss from the deep, jagged gash in her side. Her left leg was twisted at an angle limbs didn't usually bend in, and her face had the sharp, angular look of someone who hasn't been eating too well. A torn backpack lay beside her. Donatello was guessing she was a runaway, probably had been for quite a while, judging by the state of her clothes and sneakers. Which meant taking her to the hospital was out of the question. He closed his eyes briefly. She needed help, and quickly—he had to take her back to the lair. Gently, he lifted her, trying to keep her broken leg from bumping into anything. Walking quickly to the nearest manhole, he silently lifted the cover and disappeared from sight, along with his burden.

"Dammit, Mikey, you've seen this show a hundred fricken' times—can't we watch something else?"

Michelangelo grinned at his brother, tightening his orange bandana. "Lighten up, dude, you can have the remote as soon as this is over."

"'Laverne and Shirley' was over the day they aired the first episode, Mike," Raphael argued. "C'mon, gimme the remote."

"Will you two knock it off?" Leonardo snapped in annoyance from the doorway. "Some of us are trying to read."

"Sure Leo, we wouldn't want to interrupt you while you're reading 'Politeness 101: A Beginner's Guide'."

Leonardo opened his mouth, about to make an appropriately scathing response, when he heard the door to the lair open, followed by Donatello's voice:

"Guys, get in here and help me out, will ya?" His voice held a note of high-pitched panic, and soon all three brothers were gathered around the still unconscious girl in Donny's arms. Leonardo immediately took charge.

"Mikey, get Master Splinter. Raphael, help me carry her into the sickbay—Donny, you get cleaned up," he added as an afterthought as he noticed the drying blood on his brother's plastron. With Raphael's help, he carried the girl into their impromptu sickbay, setting her down cautiously on one of the empty stretchers. Moments later, their master appeared, followed by Michaelangelo.

"Raphael, hot water and towels. Leonardo, bring me needle and thread. Donatello, come here—your eyes are sharper than mine." The old rat moved aside to make room for the young would-be doctor. "The wound in her side must be tended first—clean it well, then stitch it."

Too busy concentrating to answer verbally, Donny merely nodded, wordlessly accepting the needle and flaxen thread Leonardo handed him. Carefully washing out the wound with hot water, he winced slightly as the blood began to flow freely once again. Quickly, he threaded the needle and began the laborious task of stitching—thankfully, he'd had plenty of practice on his brothers. A half hour and a good deal of thread later, he sighed, straightening. "That's all I can do for the knife-wound. Now, for the leg." Chin in hand, he surveyed it thoughtfully for a moment, then went about setting it, with occasional advice from Master Splinter. Once he felt confident that he'd done everything he could in that field, he began a more in-depth examination for any injuries he might've missed. It was not a promising diagnosis—aside from the obvious wounds, she had a severe concussion and appeared to be slipping into a coma. She was running a slight fever, and taking into account her emaciated condition, he doubted her immune system had the strength to fight off whatever she was carrying.

"So like, is she gonna be ok?" Mike asked anxiously. 

Donny shook his head. "I just don't know…it doesn't look good." He turned away from his littlest brother's dismayed expression. He felt guilty as hell. If he'd been paying more attention, he might've been able to stop whatever had happened in that alley, and this girl would be a lot closer to the land of the living. Instead, it looked like he'd be digging her grave.

"I'm checking her backpack," Leonardo announced, breaking the silence. "Maybe she has something in there that can help us ID her, see if she has any family."

Raphael looked grim. "And if she don't?"

"Whatever you do, take it somewhere else, guys; I need a little space to work here," Donatello interjected as he began setting up an IV. 

"Right—Mikey, Raph, let's go." Without a backward glance, Leonardo headed out of the room, the girl's knapsack in hand. All but Donatello followed.

The search of the girl's belongings proved uninteresting. Aside from a change of clothes and a little food, there was a Walkman with a homemade cassette tape and headphones, along with a small wooden box buried at the very bottom of the bag. It appeared to be a keepsake box of sorts, holding a small silver ring, an Indian-head penny, a piece of polished quartz, a sachet of dried rose petals, and a photograph of some tropical bay. Nothing, however, gave them a clue as to who she was or whether or not she had relatives alive and well somewhere.

Leonardo sighed, re-zipping the bag and tossing it aside. Raphael grunted: "Great—no past, no family, no name and no money. Supposing she manages to pull through. Just what are we supposed to do with her?"

Mike looked mildly irritated. "Dude, she's a person—you wanna stop talking about her like she's a stray puppy?"

"I would, if I thought you'd treat her any differently than one," Raphael snapped. "Be honest Mikey, it's always the same. We take in some down on their luck runaway, and one of us ends up getting hurt. Always. If you don't mind, fine, but I'm not payin' the price. Speaking of which, it's not like we have the cash to support anyone else--"

"Raph." Leonardo spoke his brother's name quietly, but with a distinctly commanding tone. "Leave it alone."

"Always the righteous leader, Leo," Raph sneered. "Let me tell ya somethin' bro—you can take that noble pose of yours and shove it, because this time I'm right and you know it." He stood, folding his arms and shifting his weight to one leg in a challenging pose. Leonardo slowly rose, matching Raphael stare for stare. Mike sighed and looked away, murmuring quietly, "Five…four…three…two…one…"

The door to the lair slammed, coinciding perfectly with Mike's perceptive countdown of how long it would take Raphael to break the glaring match and head out to let off some excess aggression. Leonardo immediately dropped his stern countenance and fell to the couch, looking pained.

"I hate it when he pulls this crap."

Mike could only offer a few words of surfer-logic for comfort. "Hey dude, it's like…you gotta accept him how he is."

"He's a pain in the ass, is how he is," grumbled Leonardo. "Listen, Mike…I'm gonna get some practice in. If there's any change, let me know." With that, the eldest—but feeling far from the wisest—stalked into the training room, prepared, like Raphael, to burn off his anger physically. It wouldn't have been so bad, rebuking his brother, if he hadn't know deep down inside that Raphael was right—it seemed like every time they took someone in like this, one of them got seriously hurt. As he prepared to move into a kata, he prayed that just this once, his instincts were wrong.

The next morning, only three turtles sat down to a breakfast of cold pepperoni pizza—Raphael had yet to return from last night's bender. Leonardo had just pushed back his plate and begun contemplating searching for his wayward brother, when the slam of a door announced Raphael's return. Donatello, not in the mood to witness a confrontation, retreated to the sickbay, alternately tapping something out on his computer and hovering over his still unconscious patient. The fever, thank God, had broken, leaving her pale but with a better chance of survival. He resisted the temptation to search through her bag himself—it would yield no further information, and it was unnecessary prying. Still…there was a certain fascination about the whole affair, and the curiosity was killing him.

Abruptly, he became aware of voices from the living room—not precisely yelling, but not too far from it. As the argument escalated, he could distinguish Leonardo and Raphael's voices.

"Dammit Leo, just get off my case, will ya?"

"I'm always off your case, Raph—this time I'm tired of backing down—"

"Backing down, you? Christ Leo, where the hell has your memory been? You never back down—it's always your way or the highway!"

"I let you pull as much slack as I can, Raphael. You disappear without telling me where you're headed, you challenge my decisions every chance you get—"

"Oh, well excuse me, oh fearless fricken' leader, for daring to challenge _your _decisions! I should have realized I'm not worthy to be in the same goddamn room as you, let alone have a mind of my own!"

Donatello took a step towards the door, and stopped. It was never wise to interfere when Leo and Raph were like this. Reluctantly, he turned back towards the girl…and blinked. Surely it was imagination—she wasn't nearly healed—but he could have sworn she'd shifted.

Another slight but definite movement confirmed it—she'd moved. Impossible, given her status. Carefully approaching, he examined the readings, then the girl herself. Nothing seemed to have changed, so what was going on?

Without warning, the steady bleep of the monitors switched to a long, unending note—she'd gone flat line. Alarmed, Donatello grabbed for the equipment to resuscitate her, but froze in mid-reach as the girl sat up, blinking--and apparently, very much alive. Wordlessly, he turned to look at the monitor. Numbly, he checked the connections and glanced at the other indicators. Finally, he looked up, meeting the girl's confused and slightly frightened stare. Her eyes slid towards the monitors, before widening slightly.

"I'm dead, aren't I?"


	2. Chapter 2

            "She's WHAT?"

            Leonardo sighed. He'd been in the middle of an argument with Raphael—one that probably would have come to blows, if Donatello hadn't at that moment walked in with a stunned look on his face and announced that the girl was dead. "I'm sure you did everything you could, Don—"

            Donatello shook his head vigorously. "You don't understand…she's…" he paused, unable to find the right words.

            Raphael rolled his eyes. "I think we all know the definition of 'dead', Donny." He shot a quick glance at Mikey, who'd been the first to respond to the news, and felt a pang of guilt at the look on his brother's face. "Sorry, Mike."

            "Just LISTEN, will you?" Donny was not in the best of moods. He was confused, slightly worried, and very much irritated that the laws of medicine physics had chosen to fly out the window on his watch. "The instruments say she's dead. Flat line. No brain waves, even." He took a breath. "She's awake."

            "Let me get this straight," Leonardo spoke slowly, brow furrowed. "She has no life signs, but she's alive."

            "Right."

            "Did you check your equipment?"

            Donny glared. "Give me some credit, at least—of course I checked the equipment. But I'd like to run some more thorough tests, just to make sure."

            "You want us to keep an eye on the girl?" Raphael inquired. Now that the situation had taken such a bizarre twist, he was willing to set aside quarrels—this was a mystery too intriguing to ignore.

            Shaking his head in the negative, Donatello replied, "Nah…I'd like to keep her nearby, and monitor her condition…but I could use some help with the testing."

            Michelangelo literally jumped at the chance. "No problemo, dude—I'm your turtle. Just lead the way."

            As usual, Mike's enthusiasm wore off after an hour or so of genuine work. "Dude," he sighed, "we've been over this, like, a gazillion times—there's nothing wrong with your equipment."

            Both shot covert glances at the girl, who had watched them the entire time, but had not spoken a word since her initial statement on awakening. If the equipment was working…then that meant another possibility that would be even more difficult to grasp. She must have sensed where their train of thought was headed, for she decided to speak again.

            "Am I alive or not?" It wasn't belligerent or panicky, or even slightly exasperated. Just a simple, innocent question. The fact that he couldn't answer made Donatello feel even worse.

            "Sure you are, honey," Mike said in that slightly soothing, it'll-all-be-fine tone he'd perfected. "By the way, though ya probably know if you've been listening to us, I'm Michelangelo—call me Mike—and this here's my bro, Donatello." 

            "I'm…" she paused, and a vaguely puzzled look came into her eyes. "Renee," she finished, almost to herself. "My name's Renee."

            Mike glided over the hesitation. "How old are ya, Renee?"

            Her reply was prompt. "Fourteen."

            Nodding briefly, Michelangelo stood. "C'mon, I'll show you the kitchen…do you like pizza?" Smiling and talking animatedly, he led her out, effectively ditching Donny with all the work.

            Sighing and stretching, the scholarly turtle abandoned the work, concluding that the equipment was indeed working. Which meant he had to set up a whole new slew of equipment to find out what the hell was going on…but not now. At the moment, he felt about ready for a break and a slice of pizza, not to mention some answers. He figured he could get them all in the kitchen.

            "…So you just…decided to run away?" 

            All four of the turtles were gathered around the kitchen table by now, to hear Renee's story. It was short, and typical: she'd always lived in an orphanage, and had recently due to overcrowding been transferred to a somewhat less wholesome location. However it had been, and she didn't seem keen to talk about it, she'd chosen escape. They were all surprised she'd survived so long…although, given the current situation, survive might not be the technically correct term.

            Renee nodded in response to the last and rather rhetorical question from Donatello, grabbing another slice of pepperoni pizza. His first guess had been accurate--she hadn't eaten in a while. What worried him—aside from the painfully obvious fact that she should be six feet under right about now—were her ever more frequent hesitations. It was clear she wasn't trying to be evasive, but it was also clear that she seemed to have trouble remembering a lot of details from her life. Numbers, basic facts, language…everything in that department was up and running. But personal facts, even her own name, seemed to be eluding her. He supposed it could be a remnant of the concussion, but....

            Donatello realized abruptly that he'd been staring. Feeling a flush of heat in his cheeks, he glanced quickly away…only to find that when he ventured a glance back, she was smiling at him, just for an instant before she turned her attention back to Michaelangelo. 

            Raphael surveyed the brief exchange with narrowed eyes. Donny had an odd, transfixed look on his face as he watched the girl…a look that seemed to hold more than just a scientific interest. Shaking his head, he decided to let it be—for now. The last thing he wanted was to see any of his brothers get hurt, but it was Donny's life. Besides, he was a bright guy; should be capable of keeping out of trouble.

            The key word, of course, being 'should'.

            "…Right, right…good. Now move that over there."

            "This one?"

            "No, the—yeah, that one. Careful, the wire's live…"

            "'Don't touch me, I'm a real live wire…psycho killer,  qu'est ce que c'est….'"

            Donatello glanced up, bemused as Renee continued her off-key rendition of Talking Head's 'Psycho Killer'--the girl seemed able to find a song for every comment. Since yesterday she'd improved—at least, her color was back, and she no longer hesitated over remarks. Aside from that, she'd cleaned up quite nicely…now that he thought about it, she was really quite pretty…no. Best derail that train of thought ASAP, before it crashed into the brick wall of reality. 

            "'You start a conversation, you can't even finish it…'"

            "I think you said that line already."

            She paused. "I'd sing a song on that too, but the only thing that matches is the title."

            "What's it called?"

            "'I Heard You Twice the First Time.'"

            Rolling his eyes, he bent over the circuit board again. After dissecting some spare equipment, he was trying to put together something that would help him figure out what the hell was going on. When he was done with it, it should be able to monitor nerve impulses and discern if there was brain activity, whether it appeared on his other scanners or not. At least, that's what it was supposed to do.  A lot of his inventions didn't exactly perform as advertised—see exhibit A, his particle fusion booster…currently doing duty in the kitchen as a microwave oven.

            He stopped working, and glanced up sharply at Renee. There had been a sudden…silence, but what had stopped, he couldn't tell. Then he realized she wasn't breathing. She simply sat, staring into space. It was a frightening stare, one with lifeless eyes that seemed to open into a lightless void.

            "Renee?" He shook her shoulder urgently. "Renee!"

            She blinked, started breathing, and life returned to her eyes. She smiled at him…not the warm smile of yesterday, however, but a cold expression that didn't suit her face at all. "Yes?"

            He shivered. "Never mind."

            She leaned forward, her expression now…seductive. Her voice was near purring. "Are you sure?"

            He took a moment to respond, mouth suddenly dry with fear and other emotions. "Um. Yes. Sure."

            In a single, fluid movement, she moved around the pile of electronics that separated them, putting their faces only inches apart. He almost pulled back as she leaned forward again, but stilled when he realized she was aiming for his shoulder. A low whisper sounded in his ears: "I could make you very happy."

            Donatello felt heat rising in his cheeks, and one or two other places, but he managed a fairly firm "No," as he pulled away and stood up. He watched her warily, temptation warring with skepticism and paranoia. However, a decision of what to do next was made for him as she abruptly went rigid, then quietly slumped over, unconscious.  Dropping to his knees beside her, he gently laid her on her back, and was relieved to see her eyes flutter open.

            "What happened?" she mumbled blearily, attempting to sit up.

            Deciding against a recount of her actions, he claimed, "You just blacked out for a minute…nothing to worry about."

            She gave him a doubtful look, but nodded. "Right…let's keep working, then."

            The resumed work in silence, but Donny took time to get himself back under control—physically and emotionally. Could all this be the result of something supernatural? He didn't, as a rule, believe anything that couldn't be proven in a lab, but he had no other explanation for her actions besides schizophrenia. Which was not something he could accept…not in Renee.

            Almost…almost…Raphael shouted in triumph as he cleared another level of Grand Theft Auto. Finally, he was getting somewhere.

            "Room for another player?"

            He half turned, to find Renee leaning against the entry arch to the living room of the lair. She had a hopeful look about her, like a puppy waiting to play catch. He shrugged, tossed her another control, and shifted to the right. He had spoken to her as little as possible so far, less out of animosity than a deep, unreasonable suspicion.

            "Let's go," she announced after plugging in the control pad and sitting down beside him. He had the master console, so it was up to him what mission to play. He settled on something with an abundance of blood and guts, hoping that what he'd observed of her sensitive nature would drive her away.

            _Next time, we play checkers,_ he thought grimly. An hour's worth of play had only proved that even the most sensitive of souls could transform into bloodthirsty demons when exposed to a Playstation. She'd kicked his ass more times than he could count, and seemed to be enjoying every minute of it.

            They launched into the next level, and Raphael threw all his concentration into the game. Renee was running down every moving figure in sight, and playing bumper cars with the boys in blue. As she fired at a random civilian and watched his blood spattered body drop to the concrete, she giggled—why it was different than her normal laughter he had no idea, but it made Raphael slightly queasy. He spared a quick glance over…and wished he hadn't. 

            The glow of the TV screen cast a weird light across her pale features, and she had an insane grin on her face. She wasn't reveling in beating him…she was enjoying the sheer, destructive capacity she wielded. Another giggle slipped out. _Talk about demonic…we could get her hired for the remake of Excorcist, _Raphael thought disgustedly. 

            Without warning, she tensed. Her head tilted forward, and her eyes slid shut, allowing Raphael time to win the game. By the time he turned back to her, she was staring blankly at the screen.

            "Did I black out--?" There was a pause at the end of the sentence, as though she'd been about to add something. Raphael nodded, slowly. 

            "Yeah…you must be tired." He tried to keep the wary edge out of his voice.

            "Right…I'm gonna crash. See you in the morning." Still looking slightly confused, she exited, leaving behind a very puzzled turtle.


	3. Chapter 3

"How can you not like chocolate?" Renee's scandalized tone suggested that this was equivalent to either a serious moral defect or an appalling lack of life experience.  
"I just don't like it, I don't know why. I tried milk, dark, white"  
"There is no such thing as white chocolate," she interrupted flatly. "It is a heresy, nothing more"  
Donatello chuckled. "You really take chocolate seriously, don't you"  
"Chocolate," Renee replied somewhat stiffly, "is a very serious matter." She allowed the façade to drop long enough for a grin. "However, this is not the point. The point is that chocolate was just the tip of the iceberg—the entire town was way too uptight"  
Leonardo, while not having a great deal of interest in the movie Chocolat, had at least found its portrayal of French Catholicism intriguing. Renee's presence over the last month and a half had begun to make him and his brothers aware that there was an entire world of film outside the action/thriller section of the video store.  
"But what if they weren't?" he suggested. "Sure, the movie portrays it that way, but what if she really was leading them down the path of temptation? What's wrong with maintaining your traditional beliefs"  
It was Donatello who responded. "But they did keep their traditions—they just got…less traditional," he finished noncommittally.  
"Nothing wrong with temptation," Renee added slyly. Her eyes hardened slightly as she continued: "Besides, who gives a damn about right and wrong"  
The two brothers stared at her in momentary shock. As they watched, her expression became more pleasant, flickering like an old black and white reel. "Anyway. Donny, shouldn't we get back to work"  
Donatello, after an uncertain glance at his brother, nodded. "Yeah…sure." Renee's odd, split-personality moments were growing more and more frequent, with less and less warning. He was certain it had something to do with her odd condition, but since he still had no idea what that condition was, all he could do was keep testing, analyzing, and hoping.  
As he followed her into the lab, he couldn't stop his eyes from sliding down. Renee had filled out since she arrived, and her figure…he quickly raised his eyes, feeling the blood rush to his face. He had, some time ago, done some discreet reading on human and reptilian anatomy, and was relatively certain that...intimate relations…between his brothers and female humans were possible. The odds that such a coupling would result in conception were incredibly low, of course, given the genetic oddities, but he wouldn't discount the possibility.  
Renee stopped, glancing back at him over her shoulder. "You ok"  
Donatello sighed, and nodded. Renee didn't look entirely convinced, but kept quiet as they stepped into the lab for what had essentially become a daily ritual of tests and analysis, interspersed with jokes, teasing, and occasional rough-housing.  
As Renee stretched out unconcernedly, Donny grabbed what they'd be needing and brought it over. He was trying, with some difficulty, to focus on Renee as a friend in trouble rather than a damsel in distress. There was no reason to think of her any other way, came the bitter afterthought: she probably had little to no romantic interest in what she undoubtedly perceived as a half-breed mutant who hid in city sewers.  
Something of his frustration came through as he attached some electrodes to her wrist a little more roughly than was necessary; she jerked and sat up, looking caught between surprise and concern.  
"Donny..." he turned away, but she caught at his shoulder, pulling him back around to face her. "What the hell is wrong with you today"  
He kept his gaze focused somewhere around her left ear, not trusting himself to make eye contact. "It's nothing." She started to speak, and he pulled away, cutting her off. "Just drop it, please, Renee"  
Her forehead creased in exasperation. He closed his eyes; she was unbearably cute when she did. The tone of her voice when she spoke, though, surprised his eyes open.  
"Donny...come here a minute." He stepped forward, reluctantly. She caught her lower lip between her teeth, looking uncertain. He was caught off guard as she leaned forward and, tentatively, kissed him. 


End file.
